


Black and Gold

by SuperFrikinAngsty



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Happy Ending, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25581946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperFrikinAngsty/pseuds/SuperFrikinAngsty
Summary: There had always been blood on Crowley’s hands. In the past, it was all in a metaphorical sense.This time was different.Today, an angel’s blood dripped through his fingers in an all too literal sense.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 84





	1. Black and Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Written based on an incredibly heartbreaking post by Mei (Speremint) on Tumblr
> 
> Find the art here: https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/185843346470/someones-killed-my-best-friend-i-really-liked

There had always been blood on Crowley’s hands. In the past, it was all in a metaphorical sense. This time was different. Today, an angel’s blood dripped through his fingers in an all too literal sense. There was so much blood around them that he knew there was no hope for survival. The demon’s irises exploded to fill his entire eye, the easiest way to tell that Crowley was moments from losing his cool. But he would hold himself together—at least until he got his revenge. Yet there was no denying how badly he would break when the time came.

The day had started off as they all had since the Un-End of the World; with the demon Crowley waking up next to the angel Aziraphale. Even under the threat of death, Crowley would never admit that it was his favorite part of the day. The fact that he could stare adoringly at the angel without having to risk his reputation made the past 6,000 years of unrequited pining worth it. Well, almost. The only thing that really made the pining worth it were the moments Aziraphale woke up and smiled at Crowley. His blue eyes were still blurry with sleep, yet his smile was as dazzling and radiant as it ever was.

Had Crowley not already been drowning in love for thousands of years, he may have burst into flames the first morning the angel smiled at him. “Y’know, I was thinking about that picnic,” he said, tilting his head slightly to the side. “You know, the one you promised me in ’67?”

“Of course. _1967_ ,” Aziraphale smiled at the memory for a moment before it faltered. “Crowley…”

“Yeah?” the demon sat up a bit.

“Whatever did you do with the holy water I gave you that night?”

Crowley stuttered for a moment. “Oh, er… I, uh, I used it.”

“ _Used_ it?!” Aziraphale gasped. “Crowley, you _swore_ you would never–!” His hands reached out to brush the demon’s cheeks, as if to prove that he was really still there.

“Angel, I didn’t…” Crowley’s fingers moved to cover Aziraphale’s. “Like I told you when I asked for it, it was for insurance—protection, really. When Hastur and,” he couldn’t say or think the other demon’s name without bile rising in his throat, “and the _other one_ came for me, I knew I had no choice but to use it. I swear, I never thought about it as a… a ‘way out.’ It was only ever for protection.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips and slowly pulled back his hand. “You killed someone,” he said, rather than asked, softly.

“I had no choice,” Crowley protested weakly. “It was either them or me, and I wasn’t going to leave you yet. Besides, I wasn’t the one who walked under a bucket filled with Holy Water,” he mumbled. “So it wasn’t _really_ my fault.”

“Of course not.” Aziraphale smiled a little bit. “I’m glad you didn’t go to Alpha Centauri. I really don’t know what I would do without my favorite serpent.” Crowley blushed and Aziraphale’s smile widened as he watched the demon squirm. He decided a few moments later to change the subject for Crowley’s sake, “So a picnic, then?”

“I think so,” Crowley nodded after taking a large breath. “Tell you what, I’ll go back to mine and get everything ready.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Crowley, we’ve just woken up. Don’t you think it’s a little early to go for lunch?”

“Darling, it’s nearly eleven thirty.”

“Ele–!” The angel sprang up. “Oh! I haven’t opened the shop!” Crowley laughed as the angel scurried out of the room, his hair still ruffled and sticking up in odd places.

Slowly getting up and sauntering out of the room, Crowley miracled himself out of his pajamas. “Darling, what time would you like me to pick you up?”

Aziraphale popped his head out of the kitchen, the tartan bow that had been hastily applied hanging crooked around his neck. “Sorry?”

Crowley walked up to him and straightened the bowtie. “Lunch. What time?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale blushed gently when Crowley fixed his bow. “Thank you. And I do believe one thirty would work wonderfully.”

“One thirty it is,” Crowley grinned. “I’ll bring crêpes.” His heart swelled when Aziraphale’s face lit up in excitement. “See you soon, angel.” He winked and strolled out of the bookshop, slipping into his Bentley. Crowley spared a final glance at the blonde shadow through the old windows of the bookstore before taking off to Paris.

When he returned to London, everything seemed slightly off. He shook his head and blamed it on the good weather. He pushed open the doors to the shop. “Angel? I’ve got the stuff. And the sun is out and there’s not a cloud in the sky. Looks like the perfect day for a picnic to me.” Crowley stopped at the angel’s desk, a mug of cocoa sitting cold and forgotten on the edge of the tabletop. “Angel?”

“ _Crowley_ …” Aziraphale’s voice was soft and barely audible through the bookshelves.

“Angel, where are you?” Crowley began peering down the aisles. “Angel? I don’t know what you’re playing at. Really, you’ve never been one to tease,” Crowley hummed, amused. He rounded a corner and let out a scream, all amusement immediately vanishing. On the ground was the angel, his now-flameless sword protruding from the side of his stomach. “ _Angel_!” 

Aziraphale clutched the hilt of the sword for a moment before pulling it out, his back against the last bookshelf of the row as the wound began to bleed heavily. “Crowley, I…” he gasped in pain. “I’m sorry…”

“For what, angel?” Crowley asked, crouching down, his hands hovering over the bleeding wound.

“They figured it out,” he said. “The switch. They wanted to know where you were. They promised not to hurt me if I did, but I didn’t tell them,” Aziraphale added hastily, pain lacing his tone. “I didn’t tell them where you were because they would have killed you,” he whispered. “I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t because I…” he trailed off with a painful wince.

“Angel,” Crowley begged, “ _stay_ with me.” His sunglasses slipped down his nose, but he didn’t bother to fix them. “Look at me, angel, you’re going to be fine.”

Tears ran down Aziraphale’s face as he reached out to caress Crowley’s face. “I’m sorry it took so long, dear.”

“For what?” Crowley swallowed hard and turned his head to press a kiss to the dying angel’s palm.

“For our picnic,” he murmured, his normally glittery eyes dulling. “And for me to tell you that… that I…” his voice trailed off and his hand dropped from Crowley’s face as his pained expression slowly went slack.

“Tell me what?” Crowley brushed back some of Aziraphale’s curls. “Tell me what, angel?” he repeated, his lower lip trembling. His face scrunched up in sorrow as tears began to flow down his cheeks when he realized that he was never going to get a reply. “Angel?” his voice cracked. “Aziraphale?” He clutched the limp body to his chest and screamed. “Somebody killed my best friend! _Bastards_! All of you!” Crowley screamed until his voice was hoarse. Eventually, he picked up Aziraphale’s body and carried it to the bedroom. Crowley hated that his best friend had now been reduced to little more than an “ _it_.” After he had gently set the angel on the bed, Crowley began to sob. He cried until he passed out, eventually collapsing at the foot of the bed.

Crowley woke up in near hysterics. A scream had just barely passed his lips when he bolted upright in bed. He was covered in a cold sweat and about to panic when he felt the weight of the person in bed next to him.

_Aziraphale’s death… It was just a dream. A nightmare._

Crowley closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing. He turned towards the angel and froze, ice racing through his veins even though his heart stopped beating.

 _It_ wasn’t _a dream._

The angel remained slumped across “his” side of the bed, and he was cold. His eyes were still half open, bloody tears dry and cracking on his cheeks. Crowley ran a shaky finger across the golden lines.

Angelic blood was the brightest gold, demonic being murky black. Crowley remembered watching the blood spill from his broken body after he fell turn from radiant gold into the inky black it was today. Black was the only color that could describe Crowley now. The light of his world had been violently extinguished, and he didn’t care who knew it.

He swore on every circle of Hell and every corner of Heaven that he wouldn’t stop until he had taken care of everyone even _remotely_ responsible for the angel’s death. He wouldn’t rest until the two of them were standing side-by-side once again on the Wall of Eden, their hands woven tightly together.


	2. Rumors

The rumors had spread quickly. Those who remembered the quirky bookstore that never sold a book on a street corner in Soho were the ones to start them. No one had seen the shop open for weeks, but every now and then, someone would catch a few glimpses of a gigantic black and red snake. Witnesses automatically assumed that the quiet store owner had been eaten alive by the monster that now occupied the office. Animal control was called immediately, yet when the personnel arrived, the only snake they found was a tiny black hognose that was safely tucked away in a terrarium. Definitely not a monster capable of swallowing a full-grown man.

The giant snake was never seen again, so the rumors slowly faded away. And surprisingly, no one really seemed to notice as the bookshop slowly fell into disrepair. It was almost as if no one spared a glance at the sagging building. It became one of those places that had always been there, and Londoners assumed it always would be. It wasn’t until centuries later that the stories started again. This time, they spoke of a couple that had died within the walls.

Haunted tours traveled around London each night, always stopping in front of the infamous shop. The story went like this:

_A man arrived home from work to find the doors to the bookstore wide open. It wasn’t unusual for the doors to be open on nice days, but it had been violently storming all day. Some say that the shop was also on fire. When the man entered the store, he saw his lover on the ground, dead. Some say that the man’s lover was none other than A. Z. Fell, the namesake of the store._

_It is said that there had been a snake in the shop that was kept as a pet by the owner. The animal had been a gift to the man’s lover, to keep them company while he was at work. The story goes that the snake bit the man’s lover and killed them. The man proceeded to attack the snake with a knife, and probably succeeded in killing it, since when the animal control arrived, there was no snake to be found._

_The only thing discovered during the investigation was a pool of gold ink, most likely spilled during the attack. It is said that the man became inconsolable and turned his heartbreak into fury. When a trio of lawyers appeared one day to discuss the selling of the patron-less store, he was so distraught that he murdered them in cold blood. No one knows where he took them, however, because the same as before, the only evidence of a crime was a large spill of shimmering ink. This time, there was also a large amount of black ink, obvious evidence of many bottles being shattered in fury._

_The man was never seen again, and it was presumed that he had killed himself due to the horror of what he had done. No one ever did sell or buy the shop, simply allowing it to gather dust on the corner. But sometimes, if you are lucky, you can peer into the windows and catch a glimpse of a man clad in white gently stroking the head of a black and red snake._

Two men stood in the back of the tour group, hands clasped tightly together. One was slightly taller than the other, so he had to lean down a bit to whisper something into the ear of the other man. His partner laughed softly, whispering something back. “Y’know,” the tall one spoke up and gestured to the store. “That’s not what happened at all.”

“No?” questioned the guide. “Please, do tell us the real story.”

The man smiled, and a few other tour-goers noticed the snake-shaped tattoo next to the man’s ear crease slightly when he grinned. “For starters, they were married. Husbands. Not just lovers.”

“There was alcohol,” the shorter man rationalized with a sigh. “It was Fiji.”

“Yeah, point is, they didn’t even realize they were married until ages later. Oh, and their names were Anthony and Aziraphale Fell.” He turned his head towards the man next to him and mumbled, “Very clever, by the way.” His partner turned red and smacked his arm weakly. “Any-hoo,” he smirked, “where was I?”  
  
“The true story.”

“Ah, yes. It was a beautiful day, not stormy. Why does every sad story have to be rainy? Sad things happen all the time and the sun shines quite brightly. When Jesus was crucified, the sun was high in the sky without a single cloud. All things considered, it was a rather lovely–”

“Dear, you’re getting distracted,” the man next to him said.

“Of course. _Of course_. They had slept in that morning, just basking in the love that they were gifted with. They both knew that there was no telling what the next day would bring, so they spent each moment they could in each other’s arms. Hmmm... Too much detail?” he turned to the blond man next to him.

“Just continue with the story, dear.”

“Right. The day was sunny and it was nearly noon and they were still together in bed. Years in the past, Aziraphale had promised Anthony that the two of them would go on a picnic together. That, of course, was when they were still considered to be enemies by their respective employers. Now that they had...” he hummed, searching for the right word. “ _Quit_ their jobs, they had gotten married and were finally taking each other up on the promised dates of the past.”

“They weren’t _dates_ ,” his companion protested.

“Wha– _Not dates?_ Angel, you’re ridiculous. Of course they were dates. You just didn’t know it.”

Tourists smiled in amusement as the pair began to bicker. “Crowley, they were not dates! They were professional lunches to discuss the agreement.”

“ _Professional?!_ Come on, angel! You really think I would just go to the Ritz for the Heaven of it? Be honest with yourself.”

“You’re getting off-track again,” he reminded the man he referred to as Crowley.

“This isn’t over,” the red-head growled lightly. “But anyways, Aziraphale had promised his husband that the two of them would go on a picnic. Granted, he promised the picnic almost 50 years earlier, and hadn’t brought it up since...”

“Not the time, dear.”

“Hmph,” he grumbled. “I suppose not. So Anthony left the bookshop to prepare the picnic by getting–”

“Crêpes!” the blond exclaimed. “Sorry, got excited there.”

“You and your damn crêpes,” he muttered. “Yes, Anthony went to Paris to retrieve crêpes for his dork of a husband.” The blond let out a little gasp of indignation.

“Hang on. Paris?” the guide asked. “Aren’t they at the bookstore in Soho? In England?”

“Yes,” Crowley smirked, immediately moving on with his story. “Angel, care to explain the next part?”

“Oh, of course. So after his husband left, Aziraphale finally began his day by opening the bookstore. Thankfully, he had no customers and wouldn’t have to sell any books. Really, people only wanted the rarest and most expensive ones, especially since they were not for sale!”

“Angel. Focus.”

“Ah, you’re right. Anyways, Aziraphale made himself a cup of hot cocoa in the mug his husband had bought him some decades earlier. It had little angel wings as a handle and–” he glanced at his companion and promptly stopped talking when he saw the tiny head shake. “Aziraphale had just sat down to look through a new book when some old... _colleagues_ decided to drop in. Ever since Aziraphale had quit his job, his old coworkers wanted any excuse to get their revenge.”

The guide noticed that Crowley had gone a bit stiff at the mention of the others. He put an arm around the smaller man and squeezed. “Bastards wouldn’t know a true angel if they saw one.”

The man smiled, putting a soft hand on his friend’s arm. “Shall I continue, dear?”

“Yeah, I s’pose,” he mumbled.

“Aziraphale’s coworkers were looking for his husband. They believed that Anthony was the reason he left his job, which was not true at all. They threatened to kill him if he didn’t reveal the location of his husband. Aziraphale refused, earning him a swift stab to the side.”

“Not a snake?” someone asked.

“Not at all,” Aziraphale agreed. “In reality, the only snake that lived in the bookshop was Anthony.” The group laughed, thinking it was some sort of play on words. The two men exchanged knowing smirks and continued on with their story. “Anyways, Aziraphale was left with a sword in his stomach as his colleagues left the building.”

“But the stories never said anything about blood,” the guide pointed out. “How could he have been stabbed, with a sword no less, if there was no blood?”

“Ah, but there was. Responders just didn’t know what to look for. For you see, Aziraphale was an angel. And angels’ blood is pure gold.”

“Angels? So Anthony flew to Paris?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Crowley scoffed. “He drove.”

“And when he returned,” the short man continued, “he found his husband bleeding to death in the back of the store. He had no doubt about who had done it. But he didn’t have time for anger. It was mere minutes after he returned that his husband took his last breath.”

“Can angels die?” another tourist piped up. “I mean, aren’t they already dead?”

“Of course they can die, you idiot,” Crowley snapped. “Everything can die.”

“I’ll let you finish, dear,” the blond man said.

“Aziraphale was dead and Anthony knew who had killed him. He knew and he was mad. Furious. So he vowed revenge. He decided to march–”

“ _Hop_ ,” his partner mumbled.

“ _March_ ,” he repeated forcefully, “right into Heaven and cut down the pricks who had killed the love of his life. He didn’t care that Heaven would burn hotter than Hell, he just wanted his revenge.”

“Why would Heaven burn? Isn’t Anthony an angel as well?”

“There’s where you’re wrong, mate,” Crowley hissed. “He was a demon.”

“An angel married a demon?”

“Problem?” Crowley growled.

The guest shrugged. “No problem, just never thought it would be possible.”

“Well it is. So he marched–”

“Hopped.”

Crowley paused to glare at his companion. “Are you finished? Because I’m trying to tell the story.” The man he was with shrugged innocently and smiled. “He _prepared_ to enter Heaven with the sword in hand, ready to kill every bastard who took Aziraphale from him. But the angels were a step ahead of him, and appeared in the shop the day after the murder. They arrived and threatened Anthony, but he had nothing left to lose. He fought. But he was not destined to win. They hit him repeatedly, spilling his blood across his husband’s most prized books.”

“Was his blood gold, too?”

“Black,” Crowley said grimly. “A demon’s blood is black.” His eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses that seemed far too ridiculous to wear in the middle of the night. “He was ready to give up, when there was an intervention. Whether it was a miracle or not is still up for debate.”

“It _was_ a miracle,” the shorter man hummed.

“Angel, stop talking. It was _maybe_ a miracle. God’s light had appeared, causing all in the store to freeze. They looked at the light with awe and horror as they waited for the Almighty to speak. When She did–”

“I’m sorry, did you just say _she_?”

“Problem?” Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“Nope,” the tourist shook their head quickly.

“When She did speak, She told the angels that they were wrong for killing his husband, and that their love was Her plan all along. I don’t actually know what happened to them,” he mused. “For the Almighty simply whisked them away from the bookshop and to my knowledge, they haven’t been heard from since.”

“Dear, tell them the best part,” Crowley’s angel said, an excited smile lighting up his face.

“I’m getting there, angel,” Crowley sighed. “When the Lord’s light disappeared, Aziraphale was standing in the place the other angels had previously been occupying. She had brought him back to his true love, promising to never split them apart again.”

“They decided together to leave Earth for Alpha Centauri and have been perfectly happy ever since,” his partner smiled adoringly at him. “Of course, they come back for visits every now and again. Especially since all the crêpes are here.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Couldn’t we have left the books here if we were going to come back all the time?” His partner glared at him, causing him to promptly shut up.

“That’s amazing, but how do you know all that?” the guide asked, honestly curious.

The red-haired man grinned, haunting yellow eyes peering over the top of his sunglasses. “They’re us.” With that, both he and the curly-haired blond man next to him vanished, leaving the group in awed silence as they watched a pair of feathers drift to the ground.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work I've posted to AO3, so please let me know if there are any errors!


End file.
